


crawling under my skin (too loudly)

by gundumbie



Series: using skz for my rants [5]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bulimia, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Breakdown, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gundumbie/pseuds/gundumbie
Summary: Seungmin keeps getting more and more tired, but no one's noticing. He doesn't blame the others for that- he swears he doesn't, but it sometimes feels like he does. Those feelings he refuses to say out loud take over and make him inevitably break down.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin & Everyone
Series: using skz for my rants [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917592
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	crawling under my skin (too loudly)

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!! READ THE TAGS PLEASE !!!!!!  
> this story is for me to project. in this, there are themes of:  
> disordered eating/purging   
> depression  
> anxiety  
> self-harm (hitting, punching, broken bones, mentions of cutting)

* * *

Seungmin's body hates him.

  


Filled with stewing emotions he never lets free, shaking and trembling the nights he spends staring up at the ceiling. Punishments. Blues, purples and reds lining his arms and thighs, striking his skin with something violent. No one has noticed yet.

  


And they never will, if he has any say.

  


They'll never push him besides a "you should eat more", a worried look, and a hug. They'll never question the uneaten food on his plate, the shaking of his hands, the time spent in the bathroom. Because he's not getting worse, right? Seungmin has always been like this.

  


Seungmin has always been static, eyes dormant with something dark when he thinks no one's looking. He's always not eaten much- but it's okay, because he doesn't look too skinny. They'd notice.

  


They'd notice.

  


They'd notice puffed cheeks from fingers down his throat, and not just poke fun at him for midnight snacking. They'd notice purposeful scars, see them peeking from his sleeves. They'd notice late hours practicing, declining grades, heavy eye bags.

  


Seungmin knows they would. So it must not be bad enough. He needs more, something to show the lingering thoughts in his head. More marks to show the lingering thoughts of how high up their dorm is, how bad the higher number on the scale looks, how crushing the weight keeping him in bed is. They'll notice, then.

  


Just a little while longer.

  


A few more marks.

  


A few more skipped meals.

  


A few more strangled cries.

  


"What's wrong, Seungmin?"

  


"I just had a long night."  _ Why can't you tell them? That's the whole point of this, isn't it? _

  


_ Isn't it? _

  


"Are you going to eat more?"

  


"I'm full."  _ No, you're not. _

  


_ What do the lingering gazes mean, the tighter hugs? Are they noticing? _

  


...Why does that terrify him? He should be relieved. No more cutting, no more hitting, no more crying, no more three A.M. holes in his chest raking his fingers down his face. The thought of stopping paralyzes him. Why?

  


Looping thoughts, contradicting and sorting themselves out pointlessly. What comes after death? Seungmin doesn't know. He doesn't even know what comes during life.

  


He doesn't know much, but he can feel. The flurries of worry, the strangling tiredness, the icy stoicism, the sharp edges. Seungmin knows a lot about feeling, so he tries to show what he feels instead of telling. It's not working.

  


He gets angry.

  


"God, I hate you guys!" He screams one night, bundled nerves and tingling frustrations erupting. Their concerned, sad looks make things worse. They aren't even mad at him, they're worried, which makes him want to punch them.

  


His arms tingle with their eyes on him, veins twisting with the traction of emotions. He can barely see them, only the looming shapes of their figures and the gleaming eyes trained on him.

  


"Seungmin, why don't you go and calm down, okay?" Chan asks sympathetically. Seungmin screams as loud as he can, throat burning. He leaps forward and tries to- to grasp, to scratch, to throw, but something grabs his arms and pins them behind him.

  


He wails in pain, feeling the strain of his muscles in the background of his own thoughts. He needs to throw something. Needs to get rid of the tunneling tension in his muscles, the hideous frustration bundled up inside him, tinging his insides green.

  


Faintly, he's wiggling, but there's a cloud distorting it and hiding it from him. The arms clasping his wrists together tighten and flex, keeping him from lashing out and hitting a wall. God, can't they leave him alone like all the other times?

  


He's let go. Seungmin snaps with the pent-up energy from months and months of silence, can feel the stinging cuts on his thighs, sore throat, wet eyes, and the pit of empty that's still fucking there even under the red energy. He blasts forward, arm swung up over his shoulder and fist clenched. The nearest thing he can hit.

  


It gives way with a loud, dull bang, and he can feel his fingers touch the foundation. The wall.

  


As his fingers tingle and throb, Seungmin lets himself taste regret. For training in boxing up until this point. For keeping everything inside and still resenting the others. For feeling so damn awful. For not falling off the roof when this whole shitshow started.

  


He stares at his fist. His rightmost knuckle is sunken in, jarring his hand and making it look uneven. The knuckles are worn down almost to the bone, skin ragged and bleeding. His wrist is sore.  _ So much for training in boxing,  _ he thinks.  _ Amateur mistake. _

  


Seungmin doesn’t care. He lifts the other fist shakily and hits the same wall, near where there is now a hole. He can’t feel anything.

  


If they won’t see the marks on his skin, won’t care that he’s tearing himself apart, then he’ll wreck the  _ whole damn house _ and himself. Then they’ll notice. There are buzzing yells, someone grabbing him by the waist and tugging him in the opposite direction. Seungmin feels better in a way. He stares unblinkingly at the wall, into the hole he punched into it.

  


He’s just so, so tired.

  


“Seungmin!” Minho shouts. Seungmin heaves a breath in and pulls his eyes to him.

  


Minho is hovering over him, a roll of bandages in his hands. He’s wrapping his knuckles haphazardly, fingers shaking as he holds his wrist up. “You’ve gotta stay with us, okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  
Seungmin laughs. He laughs, and laughs a little more, tears bleeding out of the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t say anything.

  


Minho curses and rolls up Seungmin’s sleeves, loudly shouting orders while messing with his cuts. Seungmin doesn’t care. If they really wanted to help, they would’ve noticed earlier. He  _ hates  _ them. He glares up at Hyunjin, who’s sobbing into the phone. His stomach stews as he looks at Felix and Chan, who are digging through the first-aid kit.

  


He wants to hurt them. He wants to, in that moment, more than anything, he wants to hurt them.  _ Wouldn’t it feel good? _

  


With that thought, he snaps back into himself.  _ No, no, fuck- I love them, they’re my family!  _ He can’t breathe. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasps out, breathing stunted by the whirring in his chest. Why did his brain think he wanted to hurt them? He doesn’t.

  


He doesn’t, right?

  


Minho looks up at him with wide eyes, and someone else comes rushing forward. “Seungmin, we’re okay.” Jisung says. “We love you, we’re okay.”

  


It’s hard to breathe. Seungmin kicks his leg back and forth against the carpet, feeling it itch against his skin. He needs to get out, get  _ out _ . Jisung takes his hand. “You need to breathe, please, Seungmin. 4-7-8.”

  


It burns his lungs, but in his panicked state, Seungmin follows along. A desperate breath,  _ one mississippi, two, mississippi, three mississippi, four mississippi, pause.  _ Breathe out. It’s hard, he breathes out for too long and he feels lightheaded. “It’s okay, you’ve got it, try again,” Jisung mutters, clutching his hand in his own. Jisung’s hands are freezing.

  


Seungmin tries again, and gets it right. He does it a couple more times, until the ebb of the itch is taken away. He lets his eyes slip closed.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh yeah this is from a while ago but i dont rly think of the band when i write this- more of characters similar to them. its important to know tje difference when writing abt real ppl. they arent the same as whatever stupid fanfic uve read. this is just using seungmin and stray kids' names because they are my comfort and hyperfixation. n e ways, does anyone have any advice for intrusive and constant suicidal thoughts??? stay safe!!!!


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